


Limited Options

by itsharbour



Series: Stydia One-Shots [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Stiles, so many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsharbour/pseuds/itsharbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes to Lydia's house for dinner after going to the doctor's and asks her for an impossible favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limited Options

**Author's Note:**

> A few disclaimers:
> 
> 1) I don't own Teen Wolf. I wasn't even born when the movie came out. 
> 
> 2) I disagree with Jeff giving Stiles Frontotemporal Dementia. I study genetics and one of the things that I study are neurodegenerative diseases and conditions. Frontotemporal dementia does not present itself in teenagers and people generally under the age of 25. In fact, symptoms only normally start manifesting in late adulthood (55+). The symptoms of FTD don't present themselves in the way that the show showed them to. Symptoms of FTD are lethargy, erratic social behaviour (innapropriate behaviour), loss of inhibition (sexual and professional), depression, so on. You can actually find the full list (which is really accurate) on Wikipedia and the ALS foundation website. Stiles' symptoms in the show pointed more to Juvenile Huntington's disease. 6% of Huntington's Disease cases happen in people under the age of 20 and the symptoms are much worse the younger you are when diagnosed. When you're under 20, your life expectancy is 10 years. Between the age of 35-44, your life expectancy raises to 20 years. Plus, the symptoms of Huntington's make more sense in the show. Insomnia, restlessness, paranoia, lack of coordination, sporadic uncontrolled movements are all symptoms, as well as cognitive impairments that can lead to dementia. Again, Wikipedia is super informative on Huntington's. 
> 
> Just thought you guys ought to know!

Stiles couldn't remember when it had gotten dark. When he had left the doctor’s office, it had still been light outside, but now the sky was dark and murky, no stars peeking out. His jeep had had a full tank of gas when he had left his apartment, but now it was getting close to half a tank left. That was enough gas to drive around the perimeter of Beacon Hills twice.

He parked the car and killed the engine, not surprised to find himself across the street from Lydia’s house.

He knew for a fact that she was home alone, because she had told him earlier that day and had asked him to come over so that they could catch up. The last time he had seen her was at Thanksgiving, when she came back from UCLA to spend the week with her family. They had taken a day to catch up. That was almost two months ago, and it was Christmas next week.

Stiles got out of the car and went to her door. He reached forward and rung the bell, then took a step back. His fingers were twitching sporadically. He could hear the sound of bare feet thumping down the stairs. The door opened, blinding him.

“Stiles!” She said, smiling widely, and threw her arms around his neck. Her hair was shorter than it had been in November, she’d cut it to her shoulders. Stiles breathed her in. She smelled like fresh strawberries and fields of grass. She looked more breathtaking than ever, if it was even possible.

“Hey Lyds.” He said with a smile, squeezing her into him and pressing his face into her soft hair.  “God, I missed you.”

She let go and took a step back. “I missed you too. Wanna go inside now? I made dinner.” She gestured at the open door and the food that was waiting for them inside.

“Sure.” He nodded. She turned around and stepped inside, heading to the kitchen, but Stiles lingered on the doorstep, not stepping over the threshold. A part of him was told him to tell her that he was tired and wanted to go home. Another wanted to tell her everything that was clouding his mind.

“Stiles?” He heard her say from inside. “Are you coming in or are you going to freeze to death?”

“I’m coming!” He yelled back to her, and took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “I’m coming.” He whispered to himself.

Dinner was on the table and Lydia was sitting down and gesturing for him to sit across from her. “I made meatloaf.” She told him, looking pointedly at the dish in front of her. “And your dad gave me your mom’s snickerdoodle recipe.”

Slowly, he took his place next to her, only offering a small smile. “Thanks, Lyds.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s going on, Stiles?” She asked, concerned. “You’re never this quiet.”

“I’m just a bit tired.” He told her, bringing his eyes up to look at her’s. “That’s all.”

Something in her mind clicked, he could see it in her face. “The doctor.” She let out quietly. Her eyes widened and the creases of her face straightened into an expression of shock. “What did the doctor say?”

Stiles brought his hand up to his face and tried to rub away the fatigue that was plaguing his brain. “Nothing good.” He tried rubbing harder.

Lydia grabbed his hand and held it down in hers. “Just tell me.” She said firmly.

He nodded. “It’s Huntington’s.”

“Huntington’s.” She said, the syllables were long and lethargic as they escaped her throat. She was in pre-med. She knew what it meant. “How didn’t we catch it earlier?”

A chuckle escaped from his throat. “Probably the ADHD and the flailing. I thought it was normal.”

“What happened?”

“Twitch.” He brought his hand up to show her. His fingers had started twitching last year, but it had never been so bad. On his first day on the firing range, he almost fired the gun at the instructor because his fingers wouldn’t stop moving. “Almost shot a guy.”

Lydia pursed her lips, not knowing what to say. “What did they tell you? What are your options?”

Stiles wanted to let out a laugh, but he knew there was nothing funny about it. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, actually.” He told her, the beating of his heart deafening him. “There aren’t many.”

“What are your options?” She said through gritted teeth.

“There’s no treatment, or cure.” He told her. “You can do therapy, but otherwise, it’s all clinical trials, and none of them deal with juveniles.”

“So that’s what we do.” She told him, nodding to herself. “Yes. We manage it.”

“Lyds--” he began.

“We can do this, Stiles.” She assured him.

His eyes shut and his foot went rigid underneath the table. He would start feeling the pins and needles soon. “We?” He asked.

“I’m going to help.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrows shot up and he opened his eyes. “You’re going to drop out of school and take care of me?” He asked her.

“Yes--”

“Do you know what happens with Huntington’s, Lydia?” He interrupted. “First your muscles start spazzing and going rigid, that’s all of them. Then you start losing control. Your coordination goes to hell, even your speech. You lose your ability to think and rationalize. Then you die.” The doctor hadn’t said to this in so many words, but the message was there. “Are you going to sit by my side when I’m nothing but a shell?” Tears were starting to form in his eyes. His fate wasn’t the saddest part, or a reason to cry, but he remembered his mother in the last few days of her life. She hadn’t been his mother for a long time. He never wanted to do that to the people he loved.

Lydia’s eyes were gleaming and she bit her lip. “I will.” Her voice cracked as she told him. “I will sit by you as long as you want me to.”

“I don’t want to do that to you.” He told her.

“Than what do you want to do?” She said in a soft, gentle voice.

Stiles met her eyes, knowing what the answer to his question would be. “The doctor said it would take a year for it to get really bad.” He took a deep breath. The air felt like fire. “I want you to help me let go.”

She let the air out of her lungs and blinked once. “Okay.” The words came out without her brain letting her take them back. “When the time comes.”

The words hung in the air. The smell of the food was now too strong and unappetizing. He wished, for a second, that he had waited until after dinner. “We can’t tell Scott.” He said.

“We can’t tell Scott.” Lydia echoed.

He looked up at her. Her eyes were trained on the plate in front of her, but her hands were still grasping his. The twitching had gotten lighter. The sensation in his leg was back. Stiles leaned forward and kissed her lips. It was a bit too heavy and a little off. He felt her lips move against his, drinking them in. She inhaled the fire in his lungs until they were no longer burning.

“Thank you.” He whispered between kisses.

“I love you.” She answered between tears.

 


End file.
